


Maybe a little sad *A look into Jokers mind*

by ArthurFlecksGirl



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Mental Instability, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23808079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArthurFlecksGirl/pseuds/ArthurFlecksGirl
Summary: A short story from Jokers point of view.Just about being in his mindset.
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/You
Kudos: 7





	Maybe a little sad *A look into Jokers mind*

Arthur Fleck. What a name. So ironic when you think about it. Arthur was meant to be a royal name, as if my father had picked it, right before he decited to dump me.  
Fleck. A curse. Nothing more. My mums curse. Penny Fleck. I just hate the sound of it. I always did. And Arthur Fleck is even worse when you think about the fact that this name gives away how this whole tragedy started. This tragedy called life. The tragedy of being me.  
Small, little Artur. Somewhone who couldn`t even stand up for himself after getting beaten up for about 35 years. He was always a good victim to pick on. Oh it was so easy breaking him, tearing his pure, little heart apart till there was nothing left but this sobbing wreck.  
I feel the brush touching my cheeks, as I finish my make up. Erasing the last inch of him out of my face. I can`t see Arthur anymore in the reflection. His face expression is gone. Wiped away by all the white and red and blue. Whiped away by the feeling of being capeable to stand up for myself. This is not a mask. It`s the real me.  
I am not hiding behind something. Arthur was. He was hiding all of his life.  
I put the brush down.  
Thats better.  
Hello Joker.  
I`m still in my underwear, I dont wanna ruin the suit with make up stains. Putting on the red suit always feels like a transformation. Even more than putting the make up on. I let my hand slide over the fabric. It turns me on to wear it to be honest, touching it is enough to turn me on. I feel so sexy in it. Arthur was always ahamed of my sexual fantasies. Some days he wouldnt even let me think about it hard enough to get myself off.  
I`m free of all of this now. I`m free of him holding me back.  
I put on the pants, the shirt, the yellow vest. Oh the vest! Traces of Carnival. He was a nice guy. But sadly just as weak as Artuhur was. I still remember the smell of Gothams concrete sidewalks, while lying face down to the dirty ground, big, fat rats running over me. I remember walking home, tortured by the pain of the bruises that covered this tiney back. Going up the stairs in pain. Every step a step further to the breakdown that was unavoidable.  
And now the jacket. The jacket is the most important piece. It compleates me. I always dress in front of the mirror. I have to see it to feel it. An emotion of excitement overfloathes me, as if I was getting more confident piece by piece. I smirked at myself in the mirror. You won`t mess with me anymore. I`m still a good guy though. I won`t hurt you if you are a nice person. But then again.... who is nice here in Gotham city?  
I light up a cigarette and start doing my litlle dance in front of the mirror. No need to put a record on. The music in my head never stops playing. Everytime I blew out that smoke I imagine I am blowing out all of the despair that I was sucking in for so long. Sucking it in like it was something comforting, something that I actually needed. Some poeople find comfort in pain. Thats what they say. Not me. It was never comforting wanting to end myself.  
I touch the fabric of my red jacket. This is what I call comfort. Being free of Arthur is comfort. LETTING GO will be comforting,too.  
Letting go of it all. Of Gotham. of thinking, of daydreaming. hallucination. Even of Joker in the end.  
I walk up to the wardrobe and take out my gun.  
I remember when I held it in my hands for the first time. It felt heavy between my fingers. Now I am used to its weight. I immeadiately felt sexy holding it. I was dancing with it in the living room. I`m a really good dancer.Even with a gun in my hand. Espeacuially with a gun in my hand. I pulled the trigger just for fun and I got real scared when I noticed that it was loaded. Why would Randall give me a loaded gun?  
I could have killed myself with it. Thats why. Thats what he wanted. He wanted to kill me, make it look like suicide. No one would ask twice. Not a soul would have been surprised if I had killed myself with a gun that was given to me. Not even my mother. Poor little, Happy! He was a little sad after all, wasn`t he?  
I let my fingers rest on the gun.  
Randall! Well. Heis not a problem anymore. The reflection in the mirror is smirking back at me, lifting an eyebrow.  
I feel that smirk on my own face. Its so ironic isnt it? He wanted me to kill myself by accident with his little present. And now he is the one who is dead. And I didnt even needed the fucking gun to do it. Would have been even funnier when I think about it now. Whatever. Slamming his head against the wall till I heard his scull breaking felt more personal than pulling a trigger. And ending him WAS personal.  
He was the one who gave me the fucking gun. I wouldnt have ever killed someone if he didnt. He made me this murderer.He made me end up in Arkham.  
Arkham. Haha. Oh sometimes I miss being there. But it won`t be long anyway until they will find me. Then I will be back again. I laugh. Not sure if its a real laugh. The excitement I felt while getting my clothes on is fading right now. Thinking about my first kill always gets me in a weird mood.  
What IF Randall wouldnt have given me that gun? Would I still be Arthur? Would my mother still be alive?  
Arthur Fleck. I knew that he was a good guy. He should have helped that poor lady on the subway though. She got harassed by thoose aweful bricks. It always took way too long till Arthur was taking action on something.  
I take my finger and whipe off some small inches of face paint. He`s there. Arthur is under there. I still feel him. I feel him inside of me the way he must have felt me inside of him. I know he is crying. He is finally able to cry now.  
I see a tear running down the part of my face where I just whiped a part off. The coor of my skin. I don`t know who is the real me anymore. Does it even matter? there is no face to be painted when you`re dead.  
I take the gun and lift my hand. Slowly.  
The face in the mirror frozen. Empty eyes. Another tear. I feel the tear running over my lips. Over the fake smile.  
"If you happy and you know it clap your hands."  
I can`t clap them while holding a gun in my hand, right?  
Too sad.  
"If you happy and you know it  
And you really want to show it...."  
My finger`s on the trigger.  
Hands starting to sweat. A little shaky,too as I put it to my head.  
Just a lil movement of the finger...no more tears. Or laughter.  
No more fake smiles.  
i`m humming, closing my eyes...  
Dizzyness overcomes me. I love this part of getting dizzy while feeling the cold metal against my temples. It makes me feel alive. Its the same feeling I experience during a hallucination. The dizziness of being still alive, even if it would be so easy to be not. Its overwhelming.  
My feets starting to move, oh the melodies. They won`t leave me alone. I wonder how death sounds like. I wonder what will be the last song that I hear before there will be silence?  
Will there ever be silence?  
The gun still pressed against my head, while I am dancing across the room. Not sure to what song. I`m too dizzy to tell the melodies apart. There are so many.  
I don`t long for death. But I am not interested in living eighter.  
Its all just a big blurr in the end.  
Its all just a song that starts and ends before you put it on repeat again.  
Just a big joke.  
I feel my index finger twitching. This could have been it.

Suddenly the door bell ringes.  
I sighn. I hate being interrupted.  
"Who is it?" I yell, walking up the door.  
"Its me." I know this voice.  
"Randall?"  
"Yeah"  
I stand behind the still closed door. Leaning against it.  
"I won`t open the door for you, Randall"  
"Why not? YOU KNOW YOUR MY BOY!"  
"Yeah right...I`m not your fucking boy, Randall" my voice cracking.  
Silence.  
I punsh my fist against the door "Randall?"  
I open the door. No one is there.  
I swallow more tears and tell myself not to cry. He is not worth it. I close the door and get back to the mirror.  
You´ve been crying Arthur. Look at your face. You runined the make up.  
I shook my head.  
Its now that I realize that I forgot to dye my hair green. How is that even possible? I could have sworn I did in the morning.  
Those brown curls.  
Were these there before?  
I touch my hair. Its soaked with sweat.  
Arthus is still there.  
I put the gun down, touch the cold surface of the mirror and allow him to cry.  
It feels good to cry, Arthur.  
Doesn`t it?


End file.
